I sat there, looking fixedly ahead at the altar, my heart pounding in my chest. Then, as the organist began to play the opening bars of ‘Once in Royal David’s City’ and the choir started to process up the aisle to their stalls, I stood up quickly and fought my way out of the pew. I was gasping for air.
Outside the church, I stood drinking in the night air and looking up at the stars, just as I had done years before in the nursery at St Joseph’s.
That night, in the bottle shed, I came up with a plan at last. I asked myself where families might go for the day if they didn’t want to celebrate Christmas in their homes and suddenly I remembered Zoo Lake, which I’d explored with Carl. It was a long way to walk from Hillbrow, but I was certain there would be people there on Christmas Day.
Zoo Lake turned out to be a godsend. It took me a couple of hours to get there but once I’d reached the Northern Suburbs I found that the plane trees that lined the streets made a huge green canopy that protected me from the intense midday heat. Red and purple bougainvillaea blossom tumbled in tangled vines over the wooden stoeps and garden walls of the houses. Everywhere it was green, shady and calm.
I was tired and footsore when I arrived at the lake but was immediately cheered to see tendrils of smoke curling up through the trees. As I drew closer, I almost broke into a run as the smell of barbecued sausages reached my nostrils.
I had to wait until the families had finished eating and had dumped their paper plates of chicken bones and salad into the large bins by the picnic site before I moved in. Standing there at the sidelines, trying not to look conspicuous, I knew how a starving jackal must feel, waiting his turn near the carcass, tongue hanging out.
When everyone had gone off to swim or sail their boats after lunch, I went over to the bins. With fingers covered with ketchup and grease, I combed through the rubbish until I had a carrier bag full of meat, bread rolls, and salad. I reckoned I had enough to last three or four days, if I was careful.
And when that runs out there is always the drive-in, I thought to myself.
A couple of weeks before, I’d been exploring downtown Johannesburg when I’d seen a poster advertising a film that was going to be shown at the Top Star Drive-in Bioscope. I didn’t really care about seeing Three Coins in a Fountain, but it occurred to me that a drive-in might be the perfect place to scavenge for food and coins. And I’d been right.
It was situated on an old mine dump and it took me over an hour to walk there from Hillbrow. The first couple of afternoons, I just stood at the entrance, watching people come and go and working out how I was going to get in for free.
But it was easier to get past the man on the gate than I’d thought. All I had to do was pretend I belonged to one of the carloads of people who had already been through. I’d seen many parents letting their kids out of the car to play on the swings until the film was ready to start, so it was easy to make out I belonged with them. I made sure to memorize the colour and make of one of the larger cars in case I was quizzed by the man on the gate, but he waved me through without a problem.
It was now the Saturday before school was due to start. Before the break, I’d been given a list of the books and sportswear I’d need for the new term. It was hopeless to think I’d be able to go back without them. When I was first living rough I’d gone to Barnato Park every day, fearful that, if I didn’t, I’d get beaten to a pulp by my dad for truanting; but now I had far more pressing worries to deal with. My supplies had all but gone.
I decided to make the long trek out to the drive-in with my carrier bag, hoping I’d find some pickings there. As it turned out, it was both a successful and a disastrous evening.
When I got to the entrance, I was waved in as usual. Once inside the enclosure, I picked my way through the small crowd of picnickers until I found what I was looking for. Near the front was a friendly-looking family with an enormous picnic, big enough to feed an army. I guessed they must be on their holidays or they wouldn’t have bought so much food.
I went over to the mother and waited until she realized that I was hanging around wanting to speak to her.
‘Hello, there,’ she said. ‘Are you okay?’
I trotted out my well-rehearsed patter. ‘I was wondering if it would be all right if I sat with you. Our car’s really near the back and I can’t see the screen very well.’
‘Of course you can!’ she said, making a space for me on the rug. ‘Come and join us. And you’d better tell me your name.’ I did so and then her attention drifted to her little boy. ‘Joseph, just one at a time, please! Here, take a napkin.’
A moment later, she remembered me. ‘Would you like a drumstick too? We’ve got plenty to spare. We’ll never get through it all.’
I thanked her and took the chicken leg, tucking into it ravenously. The woman looked thoughtfully at me for a moment. ‘Goodness, your legs don’t look much fatter than that drumstick you’re eating! Eat up, my girl.’ Then she laughed kindly. ‘I bet your mother’s always saying that.’
If you only knew. I thought bleakly. There’s probably only three or four people in my whole life who’ve ever said ‘Eat up’. And then I remembered Miss Williams for a moment, with her tray of fairy cakes.
Everyone went quiet just then as the film was beginning. I wondered if I could reach out and help myself to more food, but didn’t feel I should. My mind wasn’t on the film at all; it was just circling round and round the plates of chicken and sandwiches.
At half time, the kids’ dad put his hand in his pocket and brought out some coins. ‘Joseph, Anne,’ he beckoned to his children, who were already wandering off to play. ‘Would you like an ice cream?’
They skipped over excitedly and he gave them each a few pence. Then his wife spoke to me. ‘Would you like one, too?’ she asked. ‘Hey, Anne, wait on. I’d like you to get one for Judy as well, please.’ She gave her daughter another penny.
I’d never had ice cream in a cone before and was thrilled. Anne came back with a large whippy vanilla one with sprinkles on top, like the ones I’d seen people buy at the circus from a machine at the hotdog lady’s stand. What a bit of luck choosing this family, I thought happily as I licked the dribbles from the side of the cornet.
The film seemed to be going on an awfully long time and before the end I grew restive. I knew I had to get back to the yard before the drunks came into the alley and started kicking up a rumpus. Usually I’d be in my bottle shed by seven, but now I reckoned it must already be past eight.
I got up from the rug and whispered my thanks to the lady beside me. I still had to go on my hunt for coins and didn’t want to miss out on the opportunity. I’d quickly found out that if I walked along the rows of cars, searching the ground beneath the drivers’ windows, I might find the odd penny or threepenny bit that had been dropped by the waiters who went from car to car offering drinks and peanuts.
And now my luck was in again. I found two tickies – threepenny bits – and a penny.
Afterwards, though, walking through the darkening streets, the glow I’d felt earlier started to fade and, as I made my way along Kotze Street towards my alley, the snake of unease in my belly began its familiar writhing. I’d never got back this late before and knew it wasn’t safe here.
I entered the alleyway and saw, to my relief, that all was clear. The drunks hadn’t yet arrived. It was only when I slipped through the opening in the wall that led into the yard that I realized I wasn’t alone. But by then it was too late to get away. There was a man standing between me and my exit into the alley.
I had the most horrible feeling that I’d been here before, that I knew what was going to happen to me now. And, like that time on the beach at the Isle of Man, I simply froze. I wanted to run and scream but, like in a bad dream, my legs wouldn’t move and the breath stuck in my throat. I wasn’t in a dream, though, and the man, when he came up close, smelt too strongly of sweat and beer for me ever to suppose I was.
‘Wharra you doing here?’ he asked me in a s
lurry voice.
‘My … my dad works in the shop,’ I told him, quite unable to hide the fear in my voice.
‘You lying little kaffir,’ he said, grabbing me by the hair and twisting my head back so that I was looking straight into his eyes. They were mean.
I realized, when he’d called me a kaffir, that he must have thought, with my dark skin and bushy hair, that I was a black girl. I knew then I was lost.
‘Please, please let me go. Let me go! My dad, he works in the shop. He works in the shop!’ I couldn’t think of anything else to say and felt suddenly like I was going to pee in my pants.
‘Shut up, you dirty slut!’ he grunted, pulling my face to his and shoving his mouth over mine while he fumbled with his fly with his other hand. ‘Come on, come on,’ he mumbled. ‘Christ, you’re a skinny kaffir.’
I tried to fight back but that made him angrier and he punched my face. I couldn’t breathe as he had me by the throat. With one of his legs he kicked my feet out from under me, forcing me onto my knees, and I think I must have blacked out because I don’t remember anything else.
When I came to, I was lying curled around myself on the dirt floor of the yard. The man had gone and the alley was quiet. I gingerly lifted my head from the ground and drew myself onto my knees. I couldn’t yet stand up. Then, trying to take steadier breaths so I wouldn’t be sick, I managed to get to my feet and pull up my shorts. Every bit of my body felt bruised and broken and I could feel that I was sticky with blood, on my legs and in my mouth where he must have bitten me; but the terror was still so strong in me that I was galvanized to get out. I’ve got to get away, got to get away! He’ll come back and kill me. I know he will!
Everything had fallen out of my carrier bag in the struggle, and so I felt around on the ground to retrieve as much as I could. Then, somehow, I managed to stagger from the yard, down the alley, and out into the street. I don’t know how I got to the railway station but I managed it somehow. It was the only place I could think of that would be open all night. If it hadn’t been for the fear coursing through my body, I don’t think I could have walked at all. But I didn’t feel the half of my injuries that night. All I knew was that I couldn’t go back to the yard. Not ever.
When I got to the station, I went straight to the ladies’ room and locked myself in one of the cubicles. I didn’t know if I wanted to retch, pee, or faint, but all three feelings were intense. I was palpitating with fear and sat, collapsed on the toilet, with my head on my knees. I don’t know how long I stayed there, but it was a long time.
Later, as I was standing at the basin trying to wash the blood off myself, I caught sight of my face in the mirror. It didn’t look like my own. It scared me to see it.
Chapter Twenty-one
After the attack, I ceased caring what was to become of me. I no longer thought up ways to find food, or bothered to keep myself clean. My head wasn’t able to make any plans at all. If I’d been thinking clearly, I would probably have thrown myself under the first bus I saw. Instead, I just moved from hour to hour by some basic instinct. All I knew was that I had to get out of Hillbrow, to somewhere far away from the yard where I’d been raped.
Two days after the attack, I got on a train, without knowing or caring where it was going. My body was moving creakily, like an old woman’s, and even managing the step onto the train was agony. I got off at a place called Lenasia and dragged myself along the platform looking for a place to rest. And there I saw, in a deserted railway siding, an old yellow train carriage, rusty and dilapidated.
I climbed aboard, through a door hanging precariously by one hinge, and lay on the metal floor. I didn’t go anywhere or move from that position for many hours. Night blended into day and I was aware of nothing except the dark and cold of night-time, followed by the warmth of the sun in the middle of the day. As there were no windows in the carriage, it was like being inside a bean can. All the seats had been ripped from it, leaving metal bars along the floor which I tried to squeeze myself between. But the ridges of the hard steel bore their imprint into my back and legs whilst the cold froze my bones stiff like dead twigs. I’d thrown my school case into an old water butt so I had no school cardigan now to keep me warm or to cushion my head.
Eventually, I had to get up and look for water. I made my way slowly out of the station and onto the dusty road. It was a few hundred yards to the nearest houses, and when I reached them I saw that I was in a place quite different from anything I’d seen before in Johannesburg. They were all painted different colours: yellows, pinks, and blues, a cheery note amidst the wretched poverty of the place. From some of the houses came the sound of a strange jangly music accompanying a high-pitched wobbling kind of singing.
Lenasia, I discovered, was an Asian community, and a world away from Hillbrow. Here there weren’t any shops or restaurants, just a smoky warren of dirt roads and tiny bungalows with corrugated iron roofs. It wasn’t as stark as Soweto, a township I’d seen from the bus, which was a grey wasteland of tin and mud shacks with no trees or plants, decoration or colour. Here the houses – although basic – were brightly painted, which gave the place a cheerier feel. But I could see it was still very poor and, as I passed by a derelict petrol station, I realized that I hadn’t seen a single car on the streets.
With the lack of any food to be had, I nearly perished in Lenasia. I did manage to find water, which, to my shame, I had to drink from the shared toilet at the end of the street nearest to my railway carriage. As I squatted in the little tin shack, which grew to be as hot as an oven by midday, I spotted a little pot with a spout tucked in the corner. When I looked into it I found that it was full of water. Years later, I discovered that keeping clean was an important part of the religion of this community and that the water I drank from the pot’s spout, heated to almost boiling point in this cauldron of a tin shack, was used to wash a person’s private parts after going to the toilet. My drinking all the water must have caused an agony of irritation for those who lived in that street who found the pot empty every day.
If I hadn’t had such easy access to a toilet and drinking water, I wouldn’t have stayed in Lenasia at all, and that might have been better for me. As it was, I slowly sank into a listlessness brought on by starvation. I no longer cared what became of me.
I came to Lenasia in late March and stayed there for over two months. At first, I’d forage for scraps every day, choosing to comb a couple of the nearer streets during the quiet interval after people had left for work and the kids had gone to school. I didn’t feel strong enough to venture further afield. Sometimes I found a bag containing scraps of food that were completely foreign to me. But most days I had to go without. Any rubbish parcels I did find, I had to fight over with a pack of stray dogs, desperate, thin animals with sharp hackles and ribs that almost poked through their skin. I had to make sure I got to the parcels first before they’d been ripped apart.
Can a human being sink any lower than this? I wondered. I’m worse off than the stray dogs I find myself fighting with for chicken bones. At least they belong to a pack … I’m alone here and if I die no one will know. Maybe the dogs will fight over my bones too.
With these macabre thoughts came the most horrible nightmares – strange hallucinations brought on by my starved state – in which monsters chased me and vile slimy creatures with my father’s eyes came out of the walls and loomed over my prone body. At some point I’d ceased bothering to go out to look for food at all. Lying there in my steel box, I didn’t even register whether it was night or day. And because of the hallucinations I was having, I hardly knew either if I was asleep or awake.
I must have had my thirteenth birthday in Lenasia, but I wasn’t aware of its passing. I’d got to a point now when I no longer felt hungry. It was as if I was floating somewhere under the water in a place of half-light, possessed by a deep lethargy, the rhythm of which only varied when the ghoulish waking dreams held me in their grip.
I don’t know what made me finally get up.
It wasn’t as though I really cared what happened to me. I’m not even sure I understood how close to death I was. Now that hunger pangs no longer racked my body, it wasn’t something I was aware of any more.
I raised myself slowly, leaning on my elbows, and got to my knees. Got to go back to the city. Got to wash … Got to get a job. Got to eat. Stray thoughts floated around my head. I tried to get them into some kind of order, but it was like trying to catch flies in a box.
Without a mirror I couldn’t see what sort of state I was in, but I knew I must look a sight. There was blood on my shirt and on my face. I only guessed that it was from a nosebleed from the taste of it in my mouth when I sniffed. I tried running my fingers through my filthy hair, but it was too matted and came out in clumps when I tried. The skin on my hands, feet, and elbows was raw and peeling, and inside my mouth I could feel sore, ulcerous patches with my tongue.
I made my way out of the carriage and onto the street. It took a superhuman effort to put one foot in front of the other, but I made progress nonetheless. It was as if I was on some sort of autopilot. Outside the station was a bus stop and a group of waiting people. When the bus came, I got on with them; when they got off, I got off too. My head was spinning and I managed to walk halfway along a street before realizing that I couldn’t see at all. I blinked my eyes for a moment, trying to focus, then my whole body buckled and I collapsed against a shop door and slumped to the ground.
The next thing I knew I was gazing up into a woman’s face. She looked concerned and was asking me something in Afrikaans. I couldn’t answer her and then she really seemed worried. She went to fetch the shop assistant and together they helped me inside and onto a rest bed in the back room. After I’d drunk a little water, the shop assistant spoke to me:
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